Seven Bridges Road
by Halfpint Fountainpen
Summary: It started out as a normal day. Well, isn't that how it always begins? Tenth Doctor and OC Connie. R&R greatly appreciated!
1. Chapter 0

**Prologue**

_Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. And although BBC et al have got all the copyrights, I'm pretty sure there's no-one in the universe who actually owns the greatness that is the last of the Time Lords with a TARDIS._

* * *

It had started out like any normal day, and looking back on it now, I realize that that's how _every _such life-changing experience starts: normal.

At the time, I believed that there was nothing spectacularly out of order that morning, but of course, hindsight is twenty-twenty, and as events unfolded I came to see that the tiniest changes all pointed to the greatest change of them all. There was nothing unusual about the way I woke up and got ready for another day of life. Today's act: eight hours in a dingy nondescript antique store and book emporium. In other words, work. As always, the alarm's strident voice broke out at a quarter to seven, and shooting my arm out from underneath the warm covers, I was able to silence it with a brisk slap of my palm after a few seconds of blind, frantic patting. After a few minutes, I poked my head out from under the duvet with a sigh of resignation, then sat up and stretched.

The first thing I noticed was that the painting above the dresser was slightly askew. That in itself was not overly out of the ordinary - however, that was the wall shared between my room and my brother's, and his headboard was right up against it. I shook my head with a rueful smile. That brother of mine was something else, to use my mother's words.

I got out of bed, immediately noticing seemingly insignificant oddity number two: my slippers were under the bed, not beside it like they usually were. However, being the ignorant git I was at the time, I blamed it on my nightly stumble towards the bathroom for…well, that's none of _your _business, now, is it?

Showered and dressed in fifteen minutes flat, the bathroom was all in order to my unseeing eye. If I had been enlightened the way I am now, I would have noticed that the handprint on the mirror was not made by my brother bracing himself against it as he came in for a closer shave, but rather by a hand that was too small, too effeminately shaped for his hand – and, for that matter, mine as well.

Half an hour later, I had finished breakfast, and was heading out the door into the unusually cold morning. As I stepped out of my flat and headed for the elevator, I didn't look back as I normally did, to make sure that the door was closed and that I hadn't imagined locking it.

Now I wish I had.

Anyone who's had an unusual day start out in the same fashion as mine will tell you that they wish they'd done this or that to prevent the unusual stuff from happening. And although I've just said that I myself wish I had turned around to look at the door, sometimes in the night when I simply can't fall asleep I wonder if I really would have looked back, had I been so inclined.

I never really understood how one little thing could change an entire lifetime – how one small alteration could prevent some catastrophic occurrence from ever being more than a whisper of smoke in the dark back corner of a mind. That whole Ashton Kutcher flick never really sank into my head – you know, the one about the butterfly and all that. (And there wasn't even really a butterfly in it…)

That is to say, I never really understood it all until that day.

If you're anything like I was then, you will have spent more than one sleepless night contemplating the universe and the existence humankind and all creation. You'll have gazed up at those stars and wondered if we really are alone, and if one day we'll ever reach them.

Well, I'll tell you. They're out there.

And who are "they", you ask. What nonsense is this, you demand.

It's not nonsense. Oh, it's real – so very real.

I don't exactly remember how it started. The first thing I can recall, even up to now, was that I was running, running hard and fast and away from whatever had caused that bridge to go up in flames. Running, so scared out of my mind that, as stupid as it was, I couldn't help but look back over my shoulder.

Just…_running._

Of course, that's what you would expect somebody to do when there are things coming after you – weird, unexplainable, incomprehensible, impossible, but very-oh-so-very _real _things.

I suppose I sound crazy. And maybe I am. But that's fine. People here on Earth may never believe me, but there is one out there in the universe who always will.

* * *

_Well, there's the start...hope you guys enjoy! Please review, as all the constructive criticism helps me write better :) Stay tuned!  
_


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

The explosion happened at around midday. I remember that much because I was heading off to lunch at a little pub near the bookstore with a boy from class. Seeing how I'd been working on this bloke for ages and ages, that day was supposed to have been one of the happiest days of my life to my recollection.

We were sitting at the window, happily pecking our way through fish and chips and flirting when a rumble shook the floor and windows. James looked at me quizzically, and we both jumped up from our seats and ran outside along with the rest of the lunchtime crowd.

At first, we couldn't see anything – just crowds of people coming out of shops and bistros and pubs all down the street, looking to the sky for…_something._

And then London Bridge burst into pieces.

I don't know what direction I turned to, I don't know what instilled in me the desire, the primal instinctual feral desire to just run and run and keep going until either Earth or legs gave way beneath me. But I turned in a direction that was away from that bone-chilling, heart-stopping, gut-wrenching site of flaming stone and steel, and let my legs take me where my instinct wished.

The streets where in chaos, with people streaming down pavement in all directions, but somehow I managed to run a clear path. It was this strip of blessedly unobstructed pavement that brought me to him.

I supposed I noticed him because he was unusual in so many ways. First of all, he wasn't running away from anything…but he wasn't running towards anything, either. He was just leaning up against a big blue police box, whatever that was (I only knew its name on first glance because it said so in big white letters over the doorway), on a street corner, watching the chaos unfold.

There was something about him that made me run towards him. I don't know why, but I felt as if I could be safe with him – safe with a strange man who leaned against a police box while all hell broke loose in London, dressed in a navy blue pinstripe suit, a brown trench, and red Converse trainers. He was staring at the world over thick-rimmed glasses, unruly hair blowing in the late autumn wind, mouth puckered oddly.

As I drew nearer, I realised he was puckering up because he was whistling.

_London Bridge is..._

"…falling down!" I exclaimed, cutting him off in midwhistle.

"What?" he asked, looking at me with a startled expression.

"London Bridge is falling down!" I said.

"Well, yes, that's what I'm whistling," he replied. "Good for you. You know your nursery rhymes."

"No, you blind twit!" I exploded. "The _real _London Bridge! It's _really _falling down!"

"Well, certainly, if the _real _London Bridge is indeed falling, it's _really _falling down."

"I am NOT amused."

"And who are you, then, hmm? You don't look like the Queen. Only she's allowed to say that." He scrutinized me over the tops of his spectacles.

"My name's Connie," I said, "and who are you? Why are you just standing there acting like a daft old bat?"

"Pleased to meet you, Connie," he replied, sticking out his hand cordially. Dumbly and automatically, I took it and we shook.

"I," he said, straightening up and beginning to walk back in the direction I'd come from, "am the Doctor."

"Doctor who?"

"Just…just the Doctor." He said this with a tone of resigned exasperation, as if it was one of those questions that simply got asked way too many times for him to care about explaining such an unusual alias.

"The Mad Doctor, more like," I insisted, grabbing his hand and turning him around. Pointing in the direction he was heading, I added, "London Bridge is that way, Doctor. This way – " – jerking my thumb over my shoulder back towards the police box – " – is where the help is, and where it's safe."

The Doctor pursed his lips, then shook is head. "Nah. I think I want to go back this way," he told me, jerking his head over his shoulder. "But don't let that stop you from going on to help and safety. Actually, you shouldn't. You should go there."

"But Doctor, what about you?" The man was clearly deranged, and I wasn't about to let a poor fellow with no sense of what he was doing head into certain death.

"What about me?" he repeated. "Well. I'm the Doctor, and London's got a boo-boo."

He walked off, leaving me standing in his wake, dumbfounded as I stared at his jaunty back. He was treating this as if it were a children's game, I decided, and knew I couldn't leave him on his own. No, sir, I did _not _want this man's life on my hands.

"Doctor!" I yelled, running to catch up.

He turned. "Yes, Connie?"

"I'm coming with you!"

His face broke out in a huge, slightly manic grin. "Well, I thought you'd never insist. Come on!"

And so we ran.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Very quickly, I discovered that not only was the Doctor a hard man to keep up with in terms of verbal swordplay (my head was still spinning from our exchange down on the corner by the police box), he was exactly the same when it came to physical activity. His tall, lanky frame covered lengths of pavement in bounding steps, while my shorter legs struggled to keep up.

We made it to London Bridge unscathed. I looked up at the smouldering ruins, unable to comprehend the magnitude of such destruction. Despite the fact that I, along with the rest of London's population, had experienced enough strange occurrences involving death and destruction to last a lifetime, I couldn't quite wrap my head around this one. I felt my heart leap into my throat, choking my breath and words as I gaped up in mesmerized horror.

A spaceship gouging Big Ben apart, human brains wired into metal murderers, R2-D2's relatives on mechanical steroids, the Thames being drained after a strange Christmas star appeared in the sky – these by now were the standard by which all out-of-the-ordinary happenings were measured.

Somebody blowing up London Bridge, though…now _that _was unusual. That wasn't alien. That stuff was strictly human.

"But what did we do to aggravate them this time?" I wondered out loud when my heart went back down into my chest, leaving my throat free.

"I'm wondering that too…" agreed the Doctor, looking up at the smoke with his head tilted to one side. He rather looked like a parrot.

"I mean, we're finally getting somewhere in peace talks and all that political bull," I continued, starting to pace. I looked up at him. "Wait a second…are you MI-5?"

"Me? MI-5?" repeated the Doctor. Oh, goodness – he was sounding like a parrot, too.

"Yeah, you."

"Goodness gracious, no. But I am flattered that you think that."

"What, why?"

"Well, it's not everyday somebody tells you you're good enough to be James Bond."

I laughed. "Doctor, _nobody _is good enough to be James Bond."

He raised his eyebrow. "Oh, you'd be surprised, Connie. I think there are a lot of people out there who could give Mr Bond a run for his money."

I shook my head. He really was a nutter. "Anyway," I said, "if you're not MI5, then who sent you?"

"Nobody did. I came of my own accord." He had stooped now to examine a chunk of London Bridge that lay smoking a few feet away.

He peered very close at it, examining its surface with the same critical eye he'd used back on the corner on me. Every once in a while he would sniff it, and after a few moments of examination he finally seemed to muster up the courage to poke it.

A horrible cracking noise filled the air the moment his inquisitive finger brushed the surface, and I yelped in surprise. The Doctor was lying on the ground, face up, with little bits of cement all around him.

"Doctor?" I said shrilly, rushing over to him. "Doctor, are you alright?"

To my utter horror and surprise, he was grinning from ear to ear. "I know who did this," he said with all the glee of a schoolboy who got away with putting a pin on the teacher's chair.

"What? You can tell who did it just by…sniffing and poking?" I demanded.

He looked up at me. "Yes, I can. It's all a matter of observation, really – it's something you people aren't really good at." He turned his eyes back to the sky and let out a sigh. "Well, come on. Help me up, there's a good girl."

I hauled him to his feet. "So?"

"What do you mean?"

I rolled my eyes and sighed in exasperation. "Who did it, Doctor? Which terrorist faction blew up London Bridge?"

The Doctor stared at me as if I'd gone insane. "Terrorists?" he parroted. "Who said anything about terrorists?"

I stared back at him, gaping again.

"Oh, dear me, don't do that," the Doctor said, cupping my chin in his hand and closing my open mouth. "So unbecoming of anyone so pretty."

"Huh?"

"Nuh-uh, there you go again!" The Doctor shook his head and turned back to look at what remained of London Bridge. "Aliens, my dear comrade. These days, it's always aliens."


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

I simply couldn't grasp it at first. "Aliens?" I repeated. "You're telling me _aliens _blew up London Bridge?"

The Doctor nodded. "Yep." He raised his eyebrows mischievously. "Isn't that great?"

"Hmm, let me think," I snapped. "Human terrorists, or alien invaders with ray guns? I _wonder _which one is _worse_!" I waved my hands around, attempting to mime a set of scales.

The Doctor cast his eyes heavenward. "Oh, dear me," he murmured before stooping down to scoop up a random chunk of cement. Placing it in his pocket, he started to walk away.

"Wait! Where are you going?" I demanded, scampering after him. "You're done here already?"

He turned to look at me. "Yes, I'm done here already," he confirmed, "and I fancy some chips right about now. How about you?"

I gaped at him incredulously. "_Chips_?!" I exclaimed. "How can you think of your stomach at a time like this?"

"Well…the local authorities will be here soon…or would you rather hang about and get questioned?"

He had a point.

I tagged along behind the Doctor back to the police box, trying to sort out my hyperactive thoughts into something more coherent that I could throw at the Doctor. So many questions ran through my mind – would I ever get an answer to them?

What was supposed to have been one of the best days of my life, what with my lunch with James and all, had rapidly turned into the most horrifically bizarre. And on top of a piece of London getting blown to smithereens, here I was – stuck in the middle of an alien invasion with a nutter who sniffed cement and made it explode and craved chips in a crisis. I trotted to keep up with him nonetheless, because being stuck with somebody completely off his rocker was better than being alone. Besides, I had a strange suspicion that he knew more than he was letting on.

To my surprise (and at the same time, somewhere in the back of my head, it made total sense, what with my first impressions of the Doctor and what have you), upon arriving back at the police box, the Doctor opened the door and stepped inside.

"I thought we were going to get chips?" I bleated, suddenly rooted to the sidewalk.

He poked his head out round the doorframe. "We are," he replied. "Come on, what are you loitering about for?"

Hesitantly, I walked up to it. "I don't see how one ruddy police box is any help here," I grumbled as I stepped inside.

Then I looked up, and promptly swooned.

"Connie?" I heard the Doctor call out as I ran outside.

"Oh. My. GOD!" I cried out to the sky. "Oh, my god, _that _is purely _impossible_!"

The Doctor had puttered out after me, and to my fury he was standing outside the box, observing me with an amused face.

I couldn't help it. I just broke apart right then and there. I struggled to keep the tears at bay as I walked right up in front of him, trembling with fear and anger and frustration, and I don't know what else.

The Doctor's face changed from amused to concerned. "Connie, what's the matter?" he inquired, his voice going soft.

"'What's the matter?'" I parroted, mimicking him to his face, my voice rising in pitch with barely-contained hysteria. "_You're asking me what's the matter_?"

My head hurt. It felt like it was going to go the same way as London Bridge. My legs were barely able to hold me up, and I could hardly feel the Doctor's hands, strong but surprisingly gentle, gently clasping my shoulders and pulling me towards him for a hug.

"It's all wrong!" I finally wailed. "This whole day…it's all just _wrong_!" I buried my face in the lapel of his coat, wishing so hard that I could just wake up in my bed and start this whole horrible day over…over even better, erase it completely and not have the bridge go up in smoke.

He patted my back reassuringly. "It'll be fine. I promise." He kept his arm around me as he led me back inside the police box. Seating me down on a small white couch in front of a computer screen, he made sure I was comfortable before turning to the central control panel.

I figured that that's what it was, for it had all sorts of flashing lights, fiddly knobs, and large switches covering its surface, with wires poking out here and there. A large clear cylinder went from out of the control panel to the very roof, and I gazed at it, mesmerized by shock and wonder, as he started pressing and flipping buttons and switches.

Suddenly, a grating, screechy pumping noise filled the air, and I saw that the cylinder was glowing a bright, eerie green as the pump inside it rose and fell.

"Hang on, Connie," the Doctor suggested. "This could be a bumpy ride."


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Only two minutes later I was running as fast as I could out of the box, blindly searching for the nearest clear space in which to fall on my knees and relieve the churning sensation in my midsection. After I was done, I took a moment to survey my surroundings.

Cardiff.

We were in bloody _Cardiff._

The nausea of the trip – bumpy, jerky, rocky, and whatever other way you can think of to describe such a journey – flooded back, magnified by the shock of being in Cardiff just a couple of minutes after seeing London. On the verge of an even larger fit of hysteria, I threw up again.

Since when was Cardiff two minutes way from London? Since when did aliens use terrorist stunts as cover for their presence? Since when were bloody police boxes not only bigger on the inside than the outside, but bloody-freaking-spaceships as well?

"Here," I heard the Doctor say. I opened my eyes to see his hand in front of my face, a peculiar blue and yellow tablet lying in the proffered palm.

Seeing the wary look on my face, he chuckled and said while a smile, "Don't worry. It's alien, but I'm not trying to poison you or anything. It'll make you feel better, I promise."

I eyed the pill for a few seconds more, then snatched it up and gulped it down dry before I had a chance to change my mind. To my surprise, the tablet melted into smooth syrup upon immediate contact with my tongue, sliding down my throat with silken ease. Right away I felt my insides quiet down and settle back into their regular routine. There was nothing about the pill that tasted medical, I noted – in fact, there was something sweet and warm and comforting about the flavour…

"Blueberry muffin," supplied the Doctor, pulling me to my feet. "Peristalsis Regulator Pill," he added by way of explanation. "Your digestive system's in shock from everything that's been happening, so your nerves don't know when and where to send signals and therefo– "

I glared up at him when I was on my feet, and as soon as my boots were squarely settled I gave his arm a good solid whack.

"Oi!" he exclaimed.

"You've got a lot of explaining to do, and since I'm feeling up to strenuous physical activity, you'd better be quick about it!" I threatened.

"Since when did I have to explain anything to you?" he demanded in turn, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

"Since you invited me along, that's when!"

"You invited yourself!"

"You agreed and admitted you wanted me along!"

He considered this for a moment and then relaxed. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."

"Well, aren't you going to start?" I asked, being sure to smooth over my rough tone.

The Doctor smiled. "Not here in the opened," he explained, offering me his arm. "To lunch?"

"Alright." Arm in arm, we headed off to find the nearest chip shop.

Not only did the Doctor's pill cure nausea, it also restored my appetite. I was absolutely ravenous by the time we found a place to eat ten minutes later – a bustling little place tucked away in a sunny corner – and procured a table. Once settled, the Doctor told me to save it while he got the food.

"Oh, and…" He held out his hand expectantly.

"What?"

"I haven't got any money," he explained.

"_You _asked _me _to lunch," I said.

He just waved his fingers, as if to say, "Oh, come on, Connie. Don't be difficult."

With a huff, I dug a tenner out of my pocket and slapped it in his waiting palm. "And don't spend it all!" I called out after him, but I smiled at his retreating back.

Within ten minutes he was back with two greasy newspaper bundles, which we tore open and dove into with the ravenous manner of people who hadn't seen food for weeks. Three bites in, I realised with no small amount of horror that I had lost James in the kerfuffle of the explosion.

It had _only _taken food to remind me, I chastised myself as I fished my mobile out of my pocket. I dialled frantically as the Doctor looked on, ignoring his questioning gaze as I put the phone up to my ear and prayed that James would pick up his phone.

I got his voicemail and let out an exasperated sigh. As soon as I heard the _beep,_ I said quickly, "James, hey, it's Connie. Listen, call me back _as soon as you get this_. It's really, really important. I really hope you're okay. Miss you."

I hung up and hit speed dial two for my brother. Thankfully, he picked up.

"Connie?" His voice was crackly and distant, but there was no doubt that it was him.

"Oh, John!" I couldn't help it. That was all I could say a couple of times.

"Connie, calm down…are you okay? I just saw the news."

"I'm fine."

"Where are you?"

I paused. Now _that _was an interesting question.

"Listen, John," I began slowly. "I can't tell you where I am right now."

"But –"

"No, I don't have time to explain, really. Are you at home?"

"…no."

"Work?"

"No. I'm over at Trisha's. I spent the night."

Trisha. His girlfriend Trisha. He'd had a date with her the night before, but I had assumed they'd come back to our flat…

I looked with wide eyes at the Doctor. "You…you…you never came home? Not at all?"

"No, Con, I didn't. Look, what's going on? You sound like you're in shock."

I shook my head to clear my thoughts and took a deep breath to steady myself. "John, I'm fine," I insisted. "Look, just phone Mum and Dad for me, okay? My battery's about to go."

"Well, okay, but…" There was doubt in his voice, and he paused before saying, "Connie, listen. You're my little sister and I love you a lot. Take care of yourself, wherever you are. I'll let them know you're okay but as soon as somebody lends you a phone _you call Mum and Dad, too._"

"I promise I will. And John?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you too."

"No need to get mushy, Connie." But the gruff sound of his voice told me otherwise.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

"As far as phone calls home in an emergency go, that has got to be one of the most intriguing," the Doctor commented when I hung up. He looked at me expectantly over a really long chip.

Although I usually got pretty ticked off at people who tried to listen in on my telephone calls, and even more ticked off at those louts who actually succeeded, I didn't have the nerve to go head-to-head with the Doctor again.

"He never came home last night," I said lamely by way of explanation.

"Er…Connie, unless we're both mistaken, you just talked to your brother."

"I know, but see…" I took a deep breath and plunged right in, steamrollering right through the entire morning and telling the Doctor everything that had been different, and how I had brushed it all off as things of no significance whatsoever.

When I was done, I looked up into his eyes and once again felt that same sensation I'd had back on the street corner, when I'd first lain eyes on him. The feeling of security that just seemed to emulate from him now reached towards me, gently enveloping me and soothing my nerves. I knew I could trust him. Right now, who else did I have in the world? I needed to be able to trust him. I just needed _him _to know it, too.

The Doctor seemed to realize exactly that, because he looked right back into my eyes and told me exactly what I needed to hear. "Connie," he said gently, "you can trust me. You _have _to. I promise I'll keep you safe, okay?"

I nodded gratefully and grasped his hand.

He squeezed my hand once and said, "Now, can you re-tell me _everything _about this morning at your flat, but with _every single little detail _you can remember?"

"Why?"

"It might be important. There may be a key somewhere."

I nodded in agreement and went back, sometimes scrunching my eyes shut tight to bring back an exact picture of the flat. I ended as I had before, saying how I had left the flat without turning back to check the door.

"And that's it," I said with a tone of finality.

The Doctor frowned. "What about the bathroom?"

I shrugged. "Nothing was wrong with the bathroom, Doctor."

He shook his head determinedly. "No, no, no," he said. "You've mentioned everything else except for the bathroom. All you said was, you went from your bedroom after noticing the picture and the slippers to the bathroom for a shower, and bibitty-bobitty-blah-blah about the rest of it. You never mentioned anything about the bathroom." He looked at me sharply. "Why?"

"Because there was _nothing _wrong!" I insisted. "I took a shower. When I got out, I dried off, got dressed, and 'bibitty-bobittied' off to –" I cut myself off suddenly, one tiny overlooked detail having sneaked into my memory.

"Connie, what is it?"

I looked at the Doctor, suddenly scared. "A handprint," I replied. "A small, narrow handprint, like a little girl's, on the mirror."

A very intrigued and thoughtful look came over the Doctor's face, but before he was able to say anything the pudgy proprietor behind the counter turned up the volume on the telly above the bar. The afternoon news was on, and all eyes in the chip shop turned up to watch. The Doctor, too, munched mercilessly on chips as Alex Winters came on.

"Who's that?" he asked, pointing with a half-eaten chip. "That news anchor…I've never seen her before."

"Alex Winters," I said. "She's been the main anchor for about two months now."

"Two months?" There went those eyebrows again, up into orbit under that shock of untidy brown hair.

"Yeah. I think she started out in a segment on human interest stories, local inspirational things and such, but she was so good at it that they promoted her to the main coverage team within one month, and another month later there she was, the face of the afternoon and early evening news."

The Doctor pursed his lips, his brow furrowed in thought. "That's interesting," he murmured. "Oh, that's very interesting."


End file.
